The Only Pain Is To Feel Nothing At All
by SpyingBirdsagain
Summary: Following the sudden and violent demise of a loved one, Don and Charlie go over the edge. What else can fate take away from them? Angsty fic! - Complete -
1. Chapter 1

Title: The only pain is to feel nothing at all

Summary: Following the sudden and violent demise of a loved one, Don is hurting like never before and Charlie goes over the edge. Don and Charlie Eppes have never needed each other as much as they do now. Very angsty fic!

Disclaimer: I own nothing! I make no profit and just write for fun!  
Strong language and graphic descriptions of a violent nature are used so it has been rated accordingly.

Warning: Character death, but not the brothers! - _Would never kill them!_ -

Author notes: Please note this is my first fanfic so constructive criticism is very welcome! If anyone wants to be my beta please drop me a line! I could do with a fresh pair of eyes!

This takes place somewhere around S1/S2, when Charlie was at his most fragile and adorable!!! Inspiration came through perversely enjoying Charlie's withdrawal episodes every time he goes into shock, extreme worry, stress, trauma, etc. (and how Don gets so angry/upset). Taking everything into account, and for the purpose of this story, I have diagnosed Charlie to be suffering from extreme dissociative disorder and gave him a very bad trip to prove it!

Hope you enjoy it!

*-*-*-*-*

**The ****Only Pain Is To Feel Nothing At All**

**b****y **_**SpyingBirdsAgain**_

**Chapter 1**

"Fasten the seatbelt, Charlie."

Silence.

"Charlie, fasten your seatbelt!" Don's voice resounded, his head shifting around tensely toward his brother.

Silence.

'_Not even numbers.'_

"Goddamit Charlie!" finally yelled Don, exasperated, hands dashing down hard against the steering wheel, "can you just do your fucking seatbelt as I asked you to?!"

Silence.

'_Is existence ever possible where there are no numbers?' _

'_Quark–gluon plasma … less speculative.'_

'_Everything is numbers.'  
_

"Oh God, why … just _**shit**_ …" cursing under his breath, Don's arms flew across Charlie's body, violently fastening the offending seatbelt while carelessly harassing his brother's puny languid form in the process.

Charlie gasped, his mind suddenly awoken to some kind of primitive thought: '_Anger,'_ the first thing that materialised inside his head. _'Anger? Is there __**anger**__ in the __**Darkness**__? Oh no, no, no, no …please not here, please …no, please go … please go,'_ somewhere between a five year old begging the monster to disappear at the count of three and a grown man imploring for his life, Charlie's tears fell down like tendrils of ice, too ethereal to worry about eluding the threatening heat emanating from Don's eyes, purposely bound to the road ahead of them.

*-*-*-*-*

Their way seemed dimly lit, suburbanly quiet. Moonlight and palm trees went unnoticed for a second time, little more than superfluous patterns flickering through car windows. The pungent smell of blood was barely perceptible as it dried out into thick stains, yet intense enough to subconsciously immerse Don Eppes in a world where nightmares, unlike castles in the sky, become sharp unrelenting reality. Beyond the bullpen and crime scenes, beyond reports, photos and the stare of hollow, glassy eyes … Those eyes, he understood, no longer human, always chilling, obscured by horror and the unmistakable realisation of death standing on your chest, laughing in your face as you choke.  
Closer to home now, same glassy eyes, only too kind to have them closed for good. They didn't deserve pennies, they deserved rubies and diamonds. In fact, they deserved their life back, plain and simple.  
There is such agony capable of crushing down the seasoned FBI agent, violating the son, the friend, the brother …

Silence.

'_Silence is invariable, silence is safe. It's okay now, __**the void**__ is here again. Yes, I see. Anger is gone,' _phantomed Charlie, relieved. Finally, he wouldn't have to feel anything again, and that was good. There's no pain in the _Darkness_, no joy either. The void holds nothing, the vacuum absorbs it all. The _Darkness_ transforms everything into a pure state of perfection, devoid of matter, devoid of space, devoid of time; exactly zero. And Charlie, well, he will soon be transformed too. If he was only to retain his symmetry, avoid disturbances, avoid everything that is not _Darkness_.  
'_The Observers'_, suddenly crossed his mind, '_we must __measure simultaneously both position and velocity… the uncertainties … no, no, there are no states of definite position and momentum, no, there is no fundamental reality! There is __**no **__**fundamental reality!!!**_' tears broke again, this time with a more distinct sound; Charlie's breathing rapidly deteriorating. '_How can I even help Darkness when there are no numbers!!!??'_ he was already panicking but then, '_symmetry, symmetry, here, I know, I am sorry, I'm so sorry … all you want from me is to retain my symmetry … devoid … devoid, in vacuo …'_ and the tears stopped as his eyes shut.

Don's focus travelled from the road to the passenger seat, he'd heard the sobs loud and clear this time. Charlie hadn't cried since Don found him about four hours ago at their neighbors' place, kneeled down by his father side on a puddle of blood which seemed to spurt all over the kid, as if possessed by some macabre will of its own. Guttural sounds and a repugnant gurgling stuffed every room in the house. No doubt it was quite a scene, Alan laid there freshly mutilated, unable to scream; his whole body jerking, convulsing, twitching brutishly as in disgust at the sight and stench of is own butchering. He was once a happy-go-by mother hen but that Thursday night, he turned out to be nothing more than an overrated skimpy goat that didn't make it to the slaughterhouse. And Charlie was there, a sworn witness, staring insanely at the scene before him, trying to hold his father down, frantically trying to stop the bleeding. Both men were shivering, both men fast succumbing to shock, disintegrating.

John Malor, quick on his feet, had already contacted the older son and 911. The paramedics arrived three minutes and twelve seconds after Don; LAPD made it six minutes and eight seconds later.

John kept a Browning Hi-Power Mark III inside the house. She was a beautiful black epoxy 9mm semi-automatic pistol. He's never had to shoot a man before and for this he was truly grateful. Only that night, things worked out horribly different. Three shots John fired against the murderer and well dead that mother was but … but not before his hunting knife slashed Alan's chest and arms repeatedly until it found cherished solace inside his neck.

Both brothers followed the ambulance on the SUV and Charlie was numbed, borderline eerie. His body felt cold to Don who held him back as the EMTs worked on Alan just moments earlier. Little bro looked dead pale too, an unwilling white canvass drenched in hues of scarlet red.  
After a while he struggled no more in Don's arms, and all that incoherent gibberish stopped coming out of his mouth, for he already successfully computed the outcome: '**DOA**.'  
Still at the scene, Don and John asked the relevant questions and the paramedics said there might still be time, they had a surgical team on stand-by but Charlie, he just knew better; as clear as Pi recited backwards and every useless probability in the world ... It was right there and then, fate exposed, when he felt numbers and people and places and sounds and life itself coming to a complete halt. His father was crossing the threshold, and in that transcendental moment, _Darkness_ came to put things right, so Charlie embraced it.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi again! Many thanks to those of you who've signed for alerts and left reviews! :)

Here's chapter 2 and the saga continues: Alan is now dead, Charlie bought a plot of land in cuckooland and Don is so angry/upset he could punch his own grandma!

_Disclaimer/warnings_: as per Chapter 1 intro.

Enjoy!

Chapter 2

Don parked the SUV back at Huntington Memorial, shut off the engine and sat silently in the vehicle trying to collect his thoughts, prepare. Charlie was staring blankly at something, whatever it was.

"Wait here," said Don at last. "I need to speak to Dr Brown before they come to pick up dad," and with that he stepped out and left.

'_Dad,'_ the word intruded Charlie's self-imposed coma and for a brief moment, it dangerously threatened to dislocate his sheltered emotions with elusive flashbacks.

'_D a d. A d a d? D-a-d. __What is … a dad?'_ he managed to pull back and wondered absentmindedly, like if one of the simplest words in the English vocabulary suddenly made absolute no sense at all. '_Words,' _he observed, speaking to a forgotten world through his intense brown eyes. _'A word is __a unit of language, which consists of one or more either spoken sounds or their written representation, and that functions as a principal conveyer of meaning. A word is constituted of one or more morphemes and is either the smallest unit susceptible of independent use or consists of two or three such units combined under certain linking conditions.'_ Hmm, paused Charlie.

'_Words vs. Numbers,'_ he suddenly started again, as if to quiet a mind like his was beyond an impossible task._ 'Evidence asserts that humans are able to process numerical information in the absence of language.' _

'_Anger'__s not here,'_ he then safely stated. _'Words vs. Numbers not a disturbance? No ...'_ and forgetting all about spontaneous symmetry breaking and absolute equilibrium, he went on retrieving a notepad and a pen from the document holder in front of him and started squiggling away some equations, like an inspired automaton.

Still detached from the world around him, memories of what happened that night sank into the deepest hole in his consciousness and they _did_ sink there, under a veil, to part once and for all with the last of his sorrows.

*-*-*-*-*

"Thank you Doctor," said Don as he turned around and made his way back to the elevator, holding some papers.

"Don!"

"Hey," he addressed the three apprehensive figures approaching from the opposite wing, trying hard not to look so dispirited.

"Don, Walker called and … he told us … Don, we are so sorry," said Megan, gently patting his arm, not knowing what else could she say or do.

"Thanks," came the forced reply.

"If there's anything we can do, you just have to ask," reassured David.

"If you or Charlie need anything …" added Colby.

"Thanks," Don cut them short. "The case is closed. LAPD are dealing with it. That son-of–a-bitch's dead", he paused, holding back on a fair share of repressed tears and spitting hate as easily as snakes discharge their venom. "Charlie …" he sighed heavily, "... he's waiting outside, gotta get'im back home. I … I'll deal with Merrick tomorrow, need a couple of days off to organize myself and everything, you know …" and then all fell apart. He had a lump on his throat, a terrible headache, he felt sick, disgusted, angry … actually no, he felt categorically homicidal and wished he was John, firing those rounds over and over again, blowing that lousy junkie's head off in as many pieces as physics would allow, bursting every one of his sorry arteries and tearing apart every limb out of his repugnant body. "Gotta go, will call the office tomorrow," and rushing through the elevator doors before they closed on him, Don sprinted forward and leaned his head against the wall, closing his eyes. If bile tasted half as sweet as fantasising about payback, sure as hell he would be having it raw everyday for breakfast.

*-*-*-*-*

Don made his way out of the hospital and tentatively started walking toward the parking lot. The gentle breeze was relatively soothing. He felt the tension somewhat residing and hoped he'd manage to compose himself by the time he reached Charlie.

Truth is, there were important decisions to be made, a funeral to arrange, and at some point along the way, a psyched out brother and various other people to deal with. Once this was over though, he had a lifetime to grieve if needed be. Healing, on the other hand, didn't seem to be in the picture …

Charlie was still scrabbling equations. They weren't elegant, or even devote of rational convention for that matter, but they were numbers. They could clarify, quantify or, as a matter of fact, present meanings more accurately than _words_.

Don was back occupying the driver seat, his thoughts somewhat more organised. As he turned around to check on the scratching noises Charlie was making, he realised in horror that his brother was immerse in something that could only mean trouble. _"Oooh,"_ he whispered to himself with uttermost indignation. _'Oooh, no …don't even think about it genius!'  
_"What the _**hell**_ do you think you're doing Charlie!!!" he exploded, completely overcome by rage and misery beyond contention. "You don't speak to me in hours, after the fucking _**shit**_ that just happened. Hell, you won't even _look_ at me and now, you sit here in the goddamn dark working your P vs. P shit while I have to deal with everything on my own??? _**Is that it???**_ _**Eh??? Fucking answer me!! Is that it??? Did the magic door to wonderland opened back again inside that overrated head of yours??? You selfish little freak!! How bad do you want me to burst your precious bubble this time!!!??**_"

Tearing the notepad away from Charlie's hands, he furiously ripped it into pieces like a maniac and threw whatever was left at the back of the SUV. He then looked straight into Charlie's eyes and finished: "If you go back to the garage and do this again I swear Charlie, I swear to God, I'll make you eat every little piece of chalk in LA. Then, I promise you buddy, I'll burn the whole damn thing down, all your fucking blackboards, one by one… I'll set the whole thing up on a bonfire bigger than any 4th July gig you've ever seen, and I'll walk away from you once and for all!! I'll leave you there to rotten, for all I care!! _**You understand me??? You understand what I'm saying???!!!! **_

Charlie was shaking violently. Actually, it was Don who was swinging Charlie in a desperate attempt to cause a reaction, to bring him back to the real world and away from the guardianship of his numbers. Then he saw it, he got what he wanted …  
Crying now almost uncontrollably, he undone Charlie's seatbelt and drew him as close to him as he physically could.

"I need you, Buddy. I can't do this on my own. How could I?!" Don earnestly confessed, burying Charlie's head on his chest and stroking his messy curls. "I want you with me. You should know by now that I need _you_ as much as you need me."

Tears prevailed in the eventful night.

Charlie gasped; breathing was hard, moving of his own accord out of the question. Something hurt, a lot, but it was hard to tell what or where. This was _bad_ … "_Anger is back?!!"_ he froze up, asphyxiating in absolute terror. There were loud, unbearable noises tearing his head apart, and the increasing pain was making him very dizzy. Charlie felt as if he was being savagely attacked by the unintelligible cries of disembodied bodies. Everything growing louder, growing angrier, nastier … the howls and the pain punching their way through dazzling specs of light. The black walls around him where coming down.

'_I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!! No Words, words are gone, only numbers, I swear!! Oh no, no I … I'm sorry, no numbers! I know I know, no numbers neither.' _

"**Nothing!"**

_'Just Darkness, I promise, darkness, void!' _

"**Please!!!" **

Charlie discharged a bitter brew of high-pitch cries, thoughts and whispers, hands automatically covering his ears. His head was battling with the headrest and all he could do was to beg for forgiveness.

'_Please go!! I promise, zero- zero- zero point, it's void now. I swear it's void!! …No numbers, no fluctuations, no more anomalies!! No numbers, please, I swear!!! I swear!!! … Don't take me away, don't! Please!!! …Don't break it!' _

"**Don't hurt me!! Please!! I swear!!!**"

He might have had to crack his heart out open for it but it worked, the _anger_ was retreating. _Darkness_ heard his plea and came back to save him.

He meant what he said, he _was_ sorry. Sometimes his brain takes over; he knew that all too well, he wanted to explain. He made it clear he would not let that happen again, ever … He would please _Darkness_ and _Darkness_, in return, would protect him. _Darkness_ will transform _him_ into perfection: _like it was before the beginning, when there was no end_.

Charlie felt _Darkness_ surrounding him. He felt secure again, so tight the embrace yet so lovingly soft.  
And then the fear was gone and with it, everything else – _for now_ -.


	3. Chapter 3

Hi folks! Thanks so much for sticking with this tale!

Chapter 3 is up a bit early because I don't think I'll be able to post again until next week, I hope this will do for now :)

So, it's time for Charlie to leave the darkness alone – yep, she told me she's fed up of putting up with him (how mean!) :o – I wanted to bring him home with me and feed him ice-cream but she wouldn't have it neither!! :_( She told me she has other plans for him: Charlie will embark on a surreal journey of self-discovery with lots of symbolic imagery (surreal because surely, there cannot be a crazier place than inside the head of a fragile creative genius suffering from extreme psychological trauma!!!! Wouldn't you agree? ;)

And I haven't forgotten about poor Don btw, he's losing it too … PTSD can affect anyone! And Don, we all know, is not as tough as he likes to believe :p

_Disclaimer/warnings_: I have changed the rating to M, just to be on the safe side (thanks Beth for suggesting it!) For the rest, see Chapter 1 intro.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 3

Don shook his head as he opened the passenger door. "This was a mistake," he said. '_I shoulda taken Charlie to my apartment. Why did I make him come back here? It's too soon … How did I not see that??!! … __**Damn!**__ I just can't think straight anymore!'_

"Charlie, just walk to the house. I don't want you to turn around, okay? I'm right behind you."

Don wished he had spared them both the sight of the yellow tape, the flashing red lights and the annoyingly sympathetic stares. Not that Charlie noticed, though. '_Lucky Charlie,_' thought Don,_ 'his numbers always kept him safe. Maybe he's right. Maybe he's been right all along and I was angry 'cos … 'cos I knew that I had nothing to protect __**me**_. _Since mum died I envied what __**he**__ had because, __**really**__, what do __**I**__ have? I have to face death and more death, apparently on my own. I have victims; I have agents going down, assholes breathing down my neck as if I don't care, as if I'm not doing my goddamn best! Yeah, I have __**scum**__ making my life hell day in, day out!! That's what __**I**__ have! Of course Charlie's right! He's always right. He's the certified genius … he's __**always**__ gonna be right! _'

"What's the problem with you people?!" spitted Don, "this is not a circus, it's a crime scene!"

But they were all too busy gossiping outside Malor's house. After who knows how many hours, they were _still_ _at it_; sticking their noses where they did not belong.

"God! How did this happen?" some were saying.

"This is the safest district in the whole of Pasadena!" others wanted to believe.

"That madman … it could have been any of us! He could have force himself into any of the houses here!" everybody agreed.

When it came to John Malor, he saw a man getting killed, and he killed another one in response.  
Things would never be same.

"John, are you sure you're all-right?" asked Barbara, with every bit of concern she had in her. "When is Emily coming back? You're so lucky she's away with Ally! Imagine what could have happened!"

"Two men lost their lives today, Barbara. One of them was a good man, a friend. His son watched him die while I killed the other … I don't think it can get any worst than that."

"What a tragedy," said Barbara, bitterly. "I can't begin to imagine what those boys are going through!"

"You got that right!" replied John, eyeing the black SUV parked across the street.

"I'm sure Emily will change her mind about you keeping that gun in the house!"

"Barbara, after tonight, I think Emily will change her mind about keeping the house at all!"

*-*-*-*-*

Charlie was in bed, asleep. It's been two hours since he pretty much collapsed there. So far so good, there were no signs of nightmares. Don sat between the bed and the window, staring at his younger brother, unsure of what to do next. He wished he could just go to sleep. Hell, he even wished he could lay down next to Charlie. What would he not give to feel a heartbeat other than his own; to caress an actual human being rather than having to find comfort in replaying old memories like some broken record?

"Man, if I don't do something I'm gonna lose it," he said to himself.

"I have to phone the funeral home. Fuck, I'm not even sure when the autopsy …" but the thought was too sickening, Don had to shake it off before it made him puke.

"Dad left a will," he continued rambling, "I need to get that sorted too ... I need to go to the apartment, get some clothes ... And what am I supposed to do with Charlie?! He's not gonna eat … _Not gonna eat_," he mocked, "_gee_, _who__** would?!**_ "

At that moment, his attention waved toward the open window. A little robin was standing on the outside frame, eagerly peeking in. The bird was red, "like drown in blood," muffled Don through shaky fingers. Suddenly, the robin chirped and flew away. From the corner of his eye, Don perceived a shadow dashing across the hallway. His head turned in a flash and for a fraction of a second, everything froze.  
He stood still as if made of stone and waited for small sounds, anything that would serve to confirm a third presence in the house. Nothing came. Instinctively, he tapped his side and the realisation hurt like a hammer to the head, '_My gun! Left it downstairs! Shit!_' Out of desperation, he waited a bit more, '_shit, shit, shit ... aaw Charlie, no ..._' yet, Don felt compelled to wait, just a few more seconds ...

At last, he rose from his chair and moved cautiously to the door; there was light coming from downstairs, '_the dining room and the kitchen … no, they have to be clear. We left some lights on before coming up_ … _C'mon!_ _Focus, Don, focus,_' he tried to compose himself. '_Okay_, _next._' He started moving down the hallway, very slowly, his back brushing silently against the wall. The bathroom door was ajar, inside it was pitch black. Opposite, his bedroom door was wide open, streaks of light filtering through the blinds, no obvious movement or silhouettes inside. His father's room lurked in the shadows like a sealed tomb, '_no, not there ..._ _Bathroom first,_' whatever was left of the FBI agent in him resolved, directing him forward.

"**Awwwgghh**", came a loud moan from Charlie's room, piercing through a claustrophobic silence.

"Charlie!" Don found himself running back, breathing paranoia.

"Charlie?" he called again, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder while tossing away the comforter with his other hand to check for imaginary injuries. Charlie stirred and turned around to rest on his stomach, burying his face in the pillow as a mass of curls gracefully fell across.

"God, what am I thinking?!" scolded Don in disbelief, rubbing his forehead so hard it turned pink.

"Buddy, you are having a nightmare, that's all," he said with the saddest of grins, replacing the blue comforter and pushing it up Charlie's back until it reached his shoulders. "And so am I."

*-*-*-*-*

Charlie stood alone in the immeasurable darkness, feeling he had no limbs. Had he kept his body, it would have been floating endlessly through space, his bare skin tingling at the touch of icy particles of nothingness. He was indubitably aware of his conscious mind and he was able to think; luckily, he didn't have to. He was allowed to exist in peace.

He travelled through vast unworkable distances at a continuous, harmonious pace. He travelled through time, and time was forever, immutable. No past, present or future had ever come to be. _He had been_ _for all eternity_ and yet, his existence was cradled in an empty void. This was the ultimate paradox ... If the world and its cosmic mass never really were, and therefore his life was part of nothing, that would effectively make him a nonbeing ... his existence was in effect **nonexistent** ... If that was so, should he be aware of it? How? If the void is absolute perfection and his conscious mind has never required a tangible vessel to be, why does he vaguely remember ever having one? Why is he very much aware of the concept of time built around a material timeline comprised by identifiable phenomena, which can be both limited and subsequently measured by action and reaction? If time is perpetual rather than gradual or simultaneous, shouldn't this timeline be an impossibility, and with it the mere thought of it?

And there was a voice, echoing from afar, filling up the void, bringing Charlie's intangible journey to a standstill, " ... _you are having a nightmare_ ..." it said. Charlie turned around and was faced with dense fog arising in the distance, "... _and so am I_ ..." the voice concluded.

He hadn't heard voices in which, no doubt, felt like aeons. Darkness still surrounded him though, which was definitely a good sign.

Puzzled, Charlie instinctively looked down and saw he had feet, and legs. Marvelled, he wished a motion and in response observed arms with hands and fingers extending in front of him. He used them to touch his hips and chest and head and face. In awe, he run his fingers across his lips and, still utterly fascinated, couldn't help but to smile.

"Come closer," the voice commanded.

Tentatively, Charlie stepped forward.

In front of him stood two great pillars, Chokhmah and Malkuth. In the middle of these pillars levitated a grey shapeless mist, which spoke: "Mysteries exist among us, sometimes these mysteries dwell deep inside us, so deep they cannot be reached and thus they cannot be solved. Often, they might also _become_ us and turn the potential for enlightenment into dooming ignorance. Such is the nature of paradoxes. Understanding beyond sacrifice is never possible."

"Wh-who are you?" asked Charlie, at this point visibly scared. Hard to say however, what had frightened him the most, if the extravagant revelation the fog just made, or the fog-form itself.

"You wished for understanding," was the response. "You raised questions about your existence. You wondered about your _humanity_."

"I ... y-yes," the admission came, but not without a tinge of shame. He was convinced he was probably doing the wrong thing by continuing with this conversation but what else could he do? This _thing_, this_ being_ was there, just feet away from him, commanding, all powerful, reading his mind and who knows what else. It is not as if he was in a position of contradicting it.

"Then, you must leave this Sanctuary. You must abandon the neutrality of the _Darkness _and decipher the principles behind the elemental force of chaos."

"N-no! Please!? I don't want to leave. I don't want this body. I don't want answers or understanding!" urged Charlie. "I wanted to be free from everything! I wanted this _**peace**_ ... I'm sorry I have let you down," he lamented. "I ... I know I promised, when you saved me, before ... Please, may I stay?"

Charlie cried, and hated himself for it. It seemed that no matter where he went or what he did, he was destined to fail; he was destined for suffering and disgrace.

"I did not save you," spoke the fog-form, immutable. "I am not a saviour, neither am I your nemesis. I simply am."

Charlie remained silent.

"_If everything that exists has a place, that place too will have a place, and so on ad infinitum_," continued the entity.

"Paradox of Place, Aristotle, 350 B.C.E," recognised Charlie, easily.

"_I__t is the void which distinguishes the nature of things, as if it were like what separates and distinguishes the terms of a series. This holds primarily in the numbers, for the void distinguishes their nature_."

"Pythagoras," retorted Charlie, in a low sad voice.

"As you cross this gate, Chokhmah and Malkuth will plummet and this entrance will close behind you. _You must_ _find your way across the nether._ There will be others. Some like you, some very different in composition and intellect," explained the mist as it slowly began to evaporate, turning into an omnipotent echo. "To this, your challenge, there are infinite variables breeding infinite outcomes ..."

"Wait!" shouted Charlie in desperation. "Will I ever come back here? Is there a way to make it back?"

"That I cannot answer, for it depends on the choices you will make along the way. The final outcome will be determined by actions you have yet to execute."

A light started to appear behind the nearly dissipated fog-form. As this bright light grew bigger, the colossal pillars started trembling with a magnificent golden roar.

"It is time. Cross the gate," commanded the voice.

Hesitantly, Charlie moved forward and into the light.


	4. Chapter 4

Hi! New chap up and next one coming too, very soon! This one is a bit on the short side but chapter 5 should kinda compensate ;)

Thanks again for the comments and alerts!

Happy reading!

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-*-*-*-

-*-*-*-

Chapter 4

"We appreciate you doing this, Gary," smiled Megan.

"No problem, agents."

"Has Don seen this?" asked David, pointing at the file Megan diffidently held.

"Not yet, I suspect he'll come down to see me at some point today, and that's one thing I'm not looking forward to."

"His phone's been turned off," said David, "we left a few messages already."

"What about Charlie's statement?" quizzed Megan, turning pages back and forth as she run over the report for the third time. "Can't seem to find it anywhere."

"We didn't get it, Reeves", Walker sighed, rubbing his forehead as he conjured dire memories of what happened the night before. "The Professor was out cold. I don't think he could have given us his full name if his life had depended on it, and I was certainly not going to push the man."

Megan, Colby and David just stood there, exchanging uncomfortable looks. They only had a brief, and certainly awkward, encounter with Don last night, and none of them had actually _seen_ Charlie.

"At least he wasn't injured," said Colby, trying to sound slightly more positive.

"To tell you the truth, Granger," Lieutenant Walker raised his tone, forcing himself to continue, "at first we thought he was. I mean, when we got there we saw him covered in blood, apparently going into shock. Judging by the scene we thought it could've been due to blood loss so we had one of the medics check him out. The Professor was in bad shape but it was a relief to know he wasn't hurt. Well, not physically that is …"

After another somber pause David finally ventured, "Do you need anything from us, Lieutenant?"

"Nah, not really," said Walker, toying with his half empty coffee mug before putting it back down on his desk. "From the three bullet wounds the suspect received, the third one was a clean shot to the head. He left the scene in a body bag. The murder weapon he used on Alan was recovered and sent to the lab, along with Malor's gun. We took Malor's statement and as you've already seen, his testimony was very thorough. Once the coroner sends us the complete results of both enquiries, I'll be ready to file the case and move on. I don't want this lingering over our heads longer than needed. I was also hoping to buy Eppes some more time to come forward and give us his piece; at least a few days if nothing more."

"Both Eppes," reflected Megan, sorely putting down the case file with a sigh.

"Who was the guy anyway?" asked Colby.

"Gene Hammond; a meth head with a hefty record. We've located a family member in Phoenix; his brother. He'll be flying down today to ID the body."

*-*-*-*-*

_CLANK!_

'**I'm cold.**'

_CLANK!_

A tear.

_CLANK!_

'**Can't breathe!**'

Panic.

_CLANK!_

_CLANK!_

_CLANK!_

Charlie was traversing a formidable tunnel. It was a sculptural piece of dynamic machinery that no man could possibly erect. It was shaped as a spectral gathering of dodecahedra which consisted of adjoining rectangular openings, interlaced with progressive triangular shells and retractile spherical ones, each of them fixed in place by large, heavy bolts, carved into opaque golden snowflakes around their starry edges. Shades of grey, black and white conveyed on its upper part, creating elongated arches and a boundless sense of depth as they infiltrated the tranquil void that abode outward.

"Why does it keep moving?!" ached Charlie. "It's too far. _I can't_."

Another tear.

"_I'm so cold_."

A figure ... and then a second one next to the first, emerging in the horizon.

Charlie stopped.

"Here's where it ends," said a cheery small minus one, in a little child-like voice.

"The gauges will continue to turn until they find the right combination," explained small one, just as merry as his negative counterpart.

Small minus one picked up, "Human Consciousness tends to work same way as a human safe. It needs a code, a key to open up."

_CLANK!_

"It-it's very loud," stammered Charlie, intimidated by the herculean operation of the animated chamber, "and … and very long! Why?!"

"You must have a lot locked away!" the two ashen numerals laughed in unison.

_CLANK!_

_CLANK!_

_CLANK!_

_Jeering laughter._

Blasting trepidation charged with a sudden fit of resentment prompted Charlie to shout: "I'm not religious! I don't believe in Hell or Gehenna, or wherever it is you want to take me so _**leave me alone!**_"

The numbers looked at each other and shrugged. "You used to believe in _us_," they challenged. "_Once upon a time_, you accounted for the foundations of knowledge and discovery to be in mathematics."

"No!" retorted Charlie. "I-I don't remember! If I _ever_ did that, I was wrong!"

"_**Show us!**_" mocked the numbers, their child-like voice replaced by an evil hiss. "Prove it to _us_ but more importantly, _P.r.o.f.e.s.s.o.r_ .... prove it to _yourself_! Prove it to the world that _awaits_ ..."

A stubborn Charlie advanced heart in throat, although there was something else edging inside him, something he hadn't felt in a long time: _resolution._

He stood in between the figures; minus one, mathematician, one. The numbers took Charlie's hands, one each, and they led him forth until they reached the mouth of the polyhedron.

"You'll understand," said small minus one as it lifted its deformed head to look at Charlie.

The figures gazed at each other and with a quick, intense nod, the three of them walked toward the most mesmerising of aurora borealis.

*-*-*-*-*

The sun was breaking through the semi-closed blinds, sketching tiny shapes on the pale green walls. Don had been awake ever since the moon hid down west, feeling exhausted after a long restless night. He heard constant noises where there was nothing but silence; shadows chased him like hungry flies hovering over rotten food; but worst than anything were the flashbacks, cruelly enslaved by the ominous symphony of tormented moans bleeding from his father's room.  
Don wished his night had been plagued by nightmares instead of horrid hallucinations. He wished he could switch off like Charlie and cease to exist; if only big bad brothers had a choice ...

A fifty-five minutes shower, three coffees and four phone calls later, Don confronted the mirror. A man stood there looking back at his reflection; he had a face Don could not relate to, a convenient mask, a necessary evil.

He walked from the dining room to the stairs and looked up, cold and calculating, '_a necessary evil,_' he clinched and continued to ascend. He headed toward Charlie's room, something edging inside him; something he found could replace his angst: _resolution._


	5. Chapter 5

This is my "cutsey" chapter, or at least I consider it cuter than the rest lol – I'd like to think of it kind of like, I guess a wee bit of peace in preparation for another assault ;)

btw, the last line, that's something Alan said to Don while talking about Charlie. I just thought it was fitting :)

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Chapter 5

Eric Hammond left the morgue with a sarcastic smile crossing his worn-out skinny face. He had always known this day would come, he just didn't know who would be the first to go. It turned out it would be the Gene-genie. Heck, he almost wished he had taken on that bet with Crash and Josie a couple of years ago, just before things got real bad and he left for Phoenix. He could have been 40 bucks richer today; '_too bad_,' he thought, heading south. He had to find Gail and break the news.

'_That bitch will be pissed_,' humoured Hammond, scratching his tousled blonde hair as he walked. '_Too bad for the old man_,' he smirked. '_She'll kill'im and spit on his dead guts_.'

It was time to call in for some favours ...

*-*-*-*-*

From the cliff, Charlie could see a peculiar configuration cutting through the canyon down below. A small city made of domes, pyramids and towers; their brown stone washing delicately under a soft sun, their metallic sections reflecting the natural light straight back to the skies. A stronghold of arcane trees congregated before the arrangement of structures in a tight nest; a passageway.

The breeze stroke Charlie's face like a gentle inviting hand. Murmurs reached him; the voices of old trees speaking in an even, rhythmic tone, almost entrancing. He soon started his trek downhill, further seduced by mind-altering visual and auditory patterns. He was half-running, half-walking on hard rock and loose soil, yet the ground felt as soft as white sand under his feet.

The breeze continued to blow, continued to lure him to the forest. In the distance, he could hear the sound of running waters and suddenly he _remembered_ … he remembered how soothing it was, how familiar. He thought of swimming lines and fish shaped contours following predetermined movements and, startled mind over eager matter, the rational part of his brain managed to get hold of his legs and keep them from running forward.

"We told you so …" said a lively small one as he came out of the thick of the forest.

"It has started … good," nodded small minus one.

"What are you saying?" hit Charlie, annoyed. It seemed the whole purpose of these numbers was to aggravate him and he _did not_ welcome the gesture.

"There's much more to see, you'll like it!" assured small minus one.

"_This part_ you will," corrected small one shyly, his little feet brushing away earth and twigs.

"He doesn't need to know that! That's the whole point!" reprimanded small minus one. "And _**I **_thought _**I**_ was supposed to be the negative one!"

"Know what?" interrupted Charlie.

"Nothing. You just need to come in, go through the forest and reach the city," asserted small minus one with an innocent smile. "Easy!"

"What's in the city?" asked Charlie, distrusting the numbers, especially after their latest banter. "Is it far? _Are you coming with me?_"

"That's a strange question," shot small one with a naughty grin on its already creepy face. "This is where we live; we live in everything! We can never go away … especially not away from _you!_"

"Whatever," said Charlie, screening his surroundings, trying not to look bothered. "I guess I better start moving …"

The two little numerals followed from a safe distance. Charlie walked slowly, taking it all in, the beauty of the forest, the peace. This wasn't quite like the void; here everything was alive and in constant motion, constant change. The colours and sounds were so vivid that at times they could be truly overwhelming; you could feel them touching you, passing through you, whir-pooling around you in intricate waves; spiking up and down and thru, every time richer than before. Everything there was striving to live and connect each to one another in never-ending synergy. There were enough stimuli to drive anyone beyond crazy but for Charlie. To him it all just felt so commonsensical yet indescribably fascinating. Every sound and every sight was a feast of equations forming newborn patterns.

There was a feeling inside Charlie, something he could no longer fight, not consciously neither unconsciously. It had to do with belonging, with the power of being inquisitive and marveled by the laws of nature like the child of science he once was.

After a long, bewildering walk, Charlie's own tears reclaimed the stage and formed translucent filaments travelling downwards, like minuscule shooting stars. They sparkled exactly every 1.61803 seconds and every time they glimmered, they pulsated circular silvery-gold waves that reached out and fell on his open hands.

This was definitely better than the _Darkness_, he thought as he laughed. How long had it been since he laughed …?

And he was wet, gentle rain cladding him in translucent colours. Stray leaves flew as he walked, head up to the clouds that hid behind tall trees. And he stopped, he had to stop; he had to fall to his knees and cry some more, let it all out, let it all go; let it all be born again, like those perfectly formed patterns, like seeds forging new life under the bliss of warm summer rain.

*-*-*-*-*

The sun was coming down, its last rays gently stroking Charlie's body as he rested on the foliage. A plethora of fireflies illuminated the darkened forest, night birds embarked on their singing routines and the fragrance of flowers and wood filled the moist air. Charlie sat quietly, brushing away the broken petals that clung on him, observing them fall.

"Your name is Charlie," said a silken female voice.

Charlie looked up and saw an elegant, husky wolf standing close to him, just off a small path.

"My name is Lea," she said in an affectionate tone. "I need you to come with me, to the city and the land after."

Dumbfounded and with his senses still recovering from a serious overdrive, Charlie was unable to refuse her request. They walked together through the rest of the forest, underneath patches of sky occupied by stars and shifting fractals. As they approached the exit, the constellations became visible, adorning the infinite black ocean above. They stopped as they reached the abandoned city. In front of them there were two domes, three pyramids and five towers, situated in such fashion they formed two triangles pointing downward, one inside the other; just as Charlie had seen from the top of the hill before entering the forest. The monuments were scarcely carved, and the few writings on them were either unintelligible or too far up for the naked eye to see. A wall of mountains elevated behind the set of buildings, completing the exalted panorama.

"Follow me," said the she-wolf, detracting Charlie from his thoughts.

As they arrived to one of the farthest towers in the formation, a weak beam of starlight revealed the body of a male wolf, lying on dark tinted ground. He was badly injured, a severe cut running from his stomach to his heart.

"What happened to him?" Charlie asked Lea, his brown eyes focused on the wounded beast.

She joined the injured wolf and licked his wound lovingly. "He was hurt by … what lives in the land after," she said.

"And what's that?" asked Charlie.

"**Men**," she said.

Charlie remained silent while unwelcome flashes of people moving chaotically raved in front of him: groups of folk that looked young, eager; clusters of those that look sad, irate, worried. Men that lay on dark red ground, like the injured wolf; men that attended to their injuries, like Lea.  
_Men_ … he hadn't seen others like him in such a long time …

"Charlie," the she-wolf called softly, "we can leave now, the three of us. We have to go back, to the land after."

"And how is that going to help him?!" snapped Charlie, a new wave of resentment obscuring his voice, "you said it yourself, _they hurt him there!_ Why the hell would you want to take him back?!"

"Because there is no other way. Those who hurt him live among those who can heal him. We have to at least try."

"And what makes you so sure they will help him? After what they did, what makes you so sure they will care?!"

"Because they have done it before. They _have_ helped him before and they _will_ again," she snarled, exposing her impressive teeth.

Charlie stood impassive, studying the dying beast and the female next to him. With a compassionate sigh, he finally approached the animals and said, "I'll help you lift him to his feet. It doesn't look like he has much time left. I hope this place, this _land after_, is not too far from here …"

"It's closer than you think, Charlie," Lea spoke through a halo of hope, "whoever said you had a big heart was right. Thank you."


	6. Chapter 6

Hi! Thanks for the alerts! Here's chapter 6! Hope it's not too short, if so see it as a bonus chap, 7 should be longer anyway ;)

To sum up, a very long night has passed and Charlie is awake too, though still hallucinating and his rational thought process pretty much incapacitated due to the emotional trauma he suffered when he saw Alan getting cut to bits by a lunatic :o

Don and Hammond in the meantime, both have agendas of their own.

Warning: strong language guys!

Happy reading!

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Chapter 6

"He was an asshole! What did you expect?!"

"I'll fucking kill'im. I'll kill whoever did that to him!" spat Gail - literally -.

Eric leaped backward and sat on the stained countertop by the kitchen window, contemplating the drug exchange taking place down below. A police car stopped by, two shaded pair of eyes oblivious to anything but their greedy pockets joined in the action.

Eric frowned wrapped in thought, his old pal Doggo must be already stationed up 'the office', just a couple of blocks away.

Gail was pacing from the sink to the door and back, gesturing and giggling. The room was getting hot again, attracting those stinky parasites. "_Ice, ice_; all he did was going out for some ice. Ice for us to share; some nice little rocks, y' know? We share them; we always share."

"You want the piece or not?" barked Eric, "or are you just as stupid as to go back carrying some damn kitchen knife? You might as well take some _cheese and bread_ and invite that fucker to a picnic under the moonlight!" he said mockingly.

"Nah," said Gail, stopping her frantic pace, "I'll be packing. Today I'll be packing."

"Go see Doggo then, he knows what to give you. I'll go get the address; some greasy cop downtown owns me. I'll meet you here in a couple of hours."

"How much is that gonna cost me?"

"Does it fucking matter??!" yelled Eric as he abruptly jumped on Gail, grabbing the woman by the hair and forcing her head back until a small crack glared his ruthless eyes, "you're gonna do this, bitch! You're gonna do the old man or I'll fuckin' do you both!"

Gail's twisted expression soon took care of Eric's outburst, "I've always told Gene I liked it rough," she said, her dirty nails drawing blood from the man's chest.

"As I said," whispered Eric with a twisted grin of his own, "my brother was an asshole."

*-*-*-*-*

Charlie didn't know what to expect, but whatever it was it certainly wasn't this. He looked around, perfectly stumped. Partly because his vision was somewhat distorted and he felt both dizzy and nauseated, but mainly because he eventually managed to recognise his surroundings and flagged them as familiar. He'd been there before as a main component of distant memories he was now however, too groggy to place. This led to the question of whether_ familiar_ was good, or bad …

Holding onto what he could remember, he scoped the area but Lea and the injured wolf were nowhere to be found. '_Oh God! Was it too late? Were they too late?_' When his arms unexpectedly rose in front of him, he noticed smudges of red shyly but clearly bearing on his hands and fingers.

Don opened the bedroom door and was momentarily taken aback.

"Charlie! What the hell?"

Charlie looked up and saw a man hurrying up to him. The voice, the man's tone, just seemed so strikingly …

"What happened? You okay?" said Don as he grabbed his brother by the wrists.

Charlie pushed himself backwards in a flash, trying to get away from the man's grip.

"Whoa! Charlie calm down, okay? I need to check you out, just calm down. It's probably just a scratch."

As Don moved forward Charlie caught a glimpse of the door. The injured wolf was there, staring at him. Charlie's eyes widen as he took on the ghastly sight. Lea emerged behind the animal and her eyes too rested on Charlie.

"We made it through," she said, her voice faint.

"The ones who hurt him, where are they?" whispered Charlie.

Don looked up, stunned, his mouth wide open.

"Charlie …" he began, "I, I came to wake you up. I was going to take you with me to see that _fu _…" Don stopped, looking away, breathing in deeply, trying not to lose it. "Look, I really want us to do this Charlie … I don't care about consequences. I _need _to see that fucking piece of shit getting what he deserves; and I certainly give a fuck he's dead, okay? And neither should you."

The two wolves entered the room and sat next to the brothers. Their features were steadily growing more tangible.

"This is an altogether different game. This is personal," stressed Don.

Lea fixed her gaze on Charlie while the man spoke with an intimidating air that hauled his breath too close for comfort, "You have to come with me, Charlie. _I want you to see it_. We both need this … You know we have to stick together, Buddy. You know that, right?"

Charlie shuddered and fought to stay conscious in the swaying room. This man scared him, his towering presence closing on him like claws. Men, he knew about the cruelty of men; but knowledge is not necessarily understanding … isn't that what the fog-form said?  
Uneasy, he looked at Lea for reassurance.

"We must do whatever is necessary," she said, "time is running out. Next time dawn falls, it might be too late."

With his memory frantically fighting to flee from threat, Charlie turned to the man in front of him, incomprehensible and frightening. He shook his head in agreement, avoiding his eyes and succumbing to his manipulative touch.

Don gently squeezed Charlie's neck and an unreadable expression escaped him as he drew him closer. "Come on Chucky, let's get you cleaned up," he said as he lead his younger sibling to the bathroom.

*-*-*-*-*

When the late mid-morning sun hit a busy L.A., three gowned men gathered in a cold, darkened room. It smelled of disinfectant, steel and dead bodies; not in an obnoxiously nauseating kind of way, but rather the sort of foul bitter-sweet stage where the flesh is only about five to seven percent decomposed.

"I've never seen you or your brother, is that clear Eppes? I have no intention of going down with you."

"Sure thing, Karl," was Don's stoic reply.

"I told Walker I'm putting in some extra hours to get this done as soon as possible. You know, given the _'special'_ circumstances."

"Is he okay with that?" asked Don, his gaze firmly set on Dr Reynolds as he spoke.

"He's very _appreciative _…"

"Good, then don't let us distract you further," said Don unceremoniously.

"Right!" said Reynolds with an incredulous look. "That's quite an understatement!"

Don and Charlie walked forward into the second room and took position near the refrigeration units. Reynolds walked pass them and locked the first set of double doors. "Just a preventive measure," the pathologist said as he came back into the autopsy room where Gene Hammond's body lay, "I left specific instructions and we shouldn't be disturbed."


	7. Chapter 7

Hi! Chapter 7 is up and as promised, this one is longer!

I must confess that in parts, this chapter actually makes me feel a lil bit guilty, you know, for having killed Alan. That was a bit mean actually, wasn't it? :p

Anyway, hope you enjoy this one! Not too long for the conclusion now …

Warnings: contains some graphic descriptions of a gory nature …

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Chapter 7

Frivolously overlooking the 99c fast food joint that was Jack-in-the-Box, Mission Road revealed a nostalgic reminder of bygone idealism and neo-classical artistry. One had to stop and admire the wide flight of stairs, the temple style façade and the white selection of keystones and engaged ancones that elegantly adorned its red, harmonious form. But with the implacable wheel of time turning around its axis again, the historical building that once served as a keeper of life now held a rather more sinister purpose. At 1104 North Mission Road, Death was _that_ which lurked inside its grand walls. And although a bright Californian sun habitually clad the bricks and stones that shaped it, chills penetrated all its visitors, often in more ways than one.

The small autopsy room was unnervingly cold and claustrophobic. The ventilation units were busy humming away the inextinguishable scent of fatality.

There was a corpse lying on a table, the sheet that once guarded the silent patient from pernicious eyes had already been removed.

Charlie felt noticeably queasy and was barely hanging on. He appeared too still and too grey. How considerate of him to mirror the object of his scrutiny.

"Eppes, are you sure your brother is up to this?" pointed a worried Dr Reynolds.

"He's been through worst," replied a cold Don Eppes.

"Look Don, I understand why you are here; I really do, believe me but, to tell you the truth, I'm not so sure this is such a good idea," said Karl.

"Oh, yeah? So what is it that you're saying, Reynolds? That if we were heading to his death chamber and his attorney was present and nicely suited up for the occasion, that would make it alright? Well, I don't have that luxury, do I? But I have this so I might as well go ahead and take it.

"Hey Eppes, I'm not trying to judge you here but look! Look at your brother!"

"Whoa now, why don't we cut the crap, huh? 'Cause I certainly don't like your tone or whatever it is you're implying!" retorted Don, taking a step forward. "Now look, we had an agreement here Reynolds, so let's just stick to it, okay? Just, do what you have to do and let _me_ worry about Charlie."

Dr Reynolds felt a deep shudder go down his spine. He's known Don Eppes long enough to understand the man wasn't one to piss off, especially when he took things personal. And who could blame the guy anyway? Of the two vics, Alan got the worst of it, by far. '_I mean, is this sick?_' thought Reynolds. '_But he might be right._ _What about the electric chair, gas chamber or lethal injection? Isn't that even worst? Or is that fair justice disguised as a private show on a modern day roman circus?' _And he wondered if the idea of looking for and yearning for and finally snatching something that at least minimally resembled closure was really so sick. Whatever that _closure_ might entail …  
Granted, he was not a philosopher or a lawyer or a priest; he was just a damn pathologist. He wasn't the one to come up with all the answers instead, he was simply the one to open up the corpse. After all, that's what they paid him for. The fact that the Eppes were in the room shouldn't really make any difference, and yet, somehow it did …

"Okay …" Reynolds said, shaking his head, gloving his hands and solemnly trailing toward the autopsy table.

"What about the diener?" asked Don. The agent might not have cared about the consequences of what they were about to do but neither had he gone stupid in the space of hours.

Reynolds looked up and cracked a sly grin, "We are scheduled for **fourteen** of these today," he said, "so after my attendant performed the external examination I sent him away to, should we say, assist less experienced staff. This guy," he continued, "he takes money from funeral homes in exchange for tips; and I wouldn't be surprised to find that he welcomes cash from other sources too. This is L.A. after all, and a lot of famous individuals end up on our tables. In any case, I can assure you he'll sign whatever I tell him to and won't say a word about it."

Shooting Don and Charlie a last hesitant glance, the pathologist reached for a large scalpel and started severing Gene Hammond's trunk.

After a short while, the sticky flapping noise made Charlie lose most of his sight. And when the peeling noise started, he found his faded vision confined to a wall at the far end of the room. The injured wolf leaned against it, Charlie noticed the intense agony surrounding the beast and felt it must have not been much unlike his own. _Cornered animals, they were all cornered animals._ At that moment, Lea's soft velvety voice filled Charlie's head, '_he was the one, Charlie. He was the one.'_

"Was he the one who hurt him?" whispered Charlie; a lonely tear streamed down his pale boyish face, barely missing a stray lock.

"Yes," managed Don hoarsely, uncrossing his arms to set them across his brother's shoulders. "He messed with dad, he messed with you; _he messed up bad_," he whispered back without taking his eyes off the electric saw that was so skillfully cutting through Hammond's rib cage. "This is different," he said, tightening his possessive grip on Charlie, "he's dead and still messing up with me … _this is_ _a hell lot different_."

Reynolds lowered the saw back on the table and started pulling the sternum and ribs out from the chest cavity, exposing the heart and lungs. After some more muscle and tissue dissection, Hammond's abdomen was fully open, displaying the rest of his organs. The dry, thick, bloody skin that constituted the chest flap hanged over his face, and the equally repulsive pieces of decomposing flesh that made up the abdominal flaps hanged off his sides in a gruesome exhibit, reminiscent of Victorian medical torture sessions.

The pathologist continued slashing inside the cavity until all organs were removed from the dead body and placed on the dissection table; all but the brain. Back to the scalpel, he began to cut the patient's head, forcefully pulling skin away until the skull was made accessible.

'_No … this isn't real, this isn't real_,' implored Charlie as he tried to escape the sadistic spectacle tearing his eyes apart.  
Despite his best efforts, he was unable to drift away and pass out. Perhaps Don's proximity had something to do with it; his feverish body and strong grip keeping Charlie from falling down. Or perhaps Charlie couldn't disassociate anymore. He couldn't fight and he couldn't flight, so he remained trapped in limbo.  
'_Why? Why?_' he begged. '_God, what do you want?! Please just tell me what is it that you want! How is this helping __**anyone?!**_' but Lea remained silent, and so did the injured wolf.

The Stryker saw began to vibrate again with a new set of whirring and grinding, carving from side to side around the cranium. When the pathologist took upon removing the subject's calvarium, he did so amidst a cacophony of sucking and rubbing sounds. Eventually, the brain came out; and the brain went inside a jar.

Like a ritual offering to the God of Justice, the murderer's organs where retrieved one by one, then sliced, weighed and recorded in the annals of shame. He was many times judged in life and was now appropriately being judged in death, not by some exalted power but by those petty humans to whom he caused the most pain.

'_Serves him right. God, this serves the bastard right_,' thought Don. '_You don't know what you did. You have no idea what you did_.' Warm teardrops found themselves free to cascade down his cheeks and the little satisfaction he managed to gain was gradually replaced by sadness and emptiness.  
No matter what he'd led himself to believe, _this_ wasn't enough. If Reeves were here, she could tell him that the need for justice and revenge goes back to primitive times. That there is a strong relationship between grief, guilt, shame and revenge. She'd explain that these dominant emotions are often channeled through destructive behavioural responses. Worst of all, she'd point out that there is a strong connection between suicide and revenge, particularly when related to unresolved bereavement, complicated grief or overpowering guilt. Unfulfilled vengeance can easily turn external aggression into internal one.  
Thank God Megan wasn't there because Don just ticked all the boxes and deep inside, he started to realise that nothing could ever make up for what happened to his father.

'_You have no idea what you did_.'

Alan was the only person who's always been truly there for Don. And when the kid behaved like a resentful brat because he couldn't stand being around Charlie, Alan never once held it against him, _he understood_. No matter how stupid Don might have looked when compared to gifted Charlie, Alan never once thought less of him and remained ever so proud and confident his oldest son would fly as high in life as the younger one. And when Margaret devoted her absolute self to Charlie, even if it meant leaving home and the rest of the family behind to babysit the little geek, Alan stayed put, for Don, knowing and loving the fact that _Donny_ _needed_ some babysitting too.  
Alan was the only man on Earth allowed to tell Don the harsh truths and live to laugh it up with a game and a beer; and he was the only man capable of dragging Don's stubborn ass back in place, no matter what, no matter when.  
You could say Alan was Don's backup; the man you entrust your life to, and the man you proudly die for. But when the day came and Don wasn't there to prove it, also came the realisation that he had failed him; Don had failed his father so miserably.

"I'm sorry," Charlie said. "It must have been my fault. There's no other explanation; it must have been my fault. I'm so sorry."

Although he couldn't quite remember what happened, it was obvious that he must have had something to do with all this. Yes, he had, undoubtedly, done something wrong, very very wrong; and now he was paying the price. _Consequences, face the consequences of your actions_.

Charlie was being tormented; he was being blamed as much as the desecrated man in front of them. For what other purpose would have they forced him to endure such a perverse ceremony? Charlie could only concede this was a well deserved punishment.

"Please Charlie, don't. Just don't, buddy," said Don, rubbing his eyes and damped face. "I can't deal with you blaming yourself right now."

"Why did you bring me here then?" sobbed Charlie, still wary of the man who took pleasure in scolding and yanking him. "This is my punishment, I get it. I am_ trying_ to remember what is it that I've done!"

"Charlie stop!" Don raised his voice, causing Reynolds to look up. "_Please shut up, just shut up_."

The injured wolf stood up with great difficulty and crawled away, leaving the room. Lea turned to Charlie with a cryptic '_we'll be waiting …_' and then followed outside too.

The autopsy table was occupied by the empty shell of a human being sleeping on a metallic bed washed in blood. His skin was slit and stretched around him in patches partially attached to his trunk and head. The chest plate and other body parts surrounded the doctor and his victim, along with a few evidence bags, jars, sketches and various bloody instruments.

"I'm ready to close up," said Reynolds. "It took longer than expected so perhaps it'd be wise for you to leave now. Remember that this was officially scheduled for 2pm. I wouldn't want you to accidentally cross paths with any of Walker's men when they come by to pick up the samples we have collected."

"Yeah," said Don, completely drained. "We got what we came for. Thank you, Karl."

"Anytime, Eppes," said Dr Reynolds, anytime meaning '_if someone decides to kill your brother or any other family member, I'll just make sure to find myself as far away from here as possible_, _and stay away_!' though certain things are better left unspoken.

As the Eppes left, Reynolds began the restoration of the cadaver. He placed the calvarium back on the skull, the scalp back over the calvarium, the chest plate inside the main cavity, and diligently started sewing up the open wounds.

As the pathologist was finishing up the job, Don and Charlie sat in the SUV.

Both men were silent, withdrawn into their addictive kingdoms of pain. And why not? Pain felt so strangely good; better than feeling nothing at all.

Don was playing the angry martyr. Doing a good job in convincing himself that it was his fault his father was dead; that he could have done something to save his life, just by driving faster, by stopping earlier for dinner, by saying I love you. But they weren't that sort of family really, the demonstrative type.

Was it not about three or four days ago when he last spoke to Alan? That long? And when did the 'see you later' changed into an inadmissible 'I will never see you again'? When did he become so useless, so worthless?

Charlie had a headache. The rattle of the saw cutting through bone and the scalpel slicing through fat and flesh wouldn't go away. He started having violent flashbacks; intermittent visions of a man being cut up open by a masked figure; rotten skin got ripped into chunks, organs were blunted out to be sliced, blood was dripping down the meat scales where body parts where hanging from. And the smell, that smell …

Then more visions loomed and Charlie's face emerged from them as a snapshot of horror. A living room, a man with a hunting knife. Another man, and this one he knew, this one … he called his name; and he was anxious, frightened, shouting his name time and time again …

Charlie brought his hands up to hold his head; it seemed to weigh a ton, and hurt even worst. His ears were ringing loudly and bile started to rise. Then another flashback punched in; the man, the man he knew, there was a feeling, a sense, a feeling that he cared, that's why he was scared. Then the man with the knife, '_Oh God_!' he was the dead one, the one they've just cut up! But on this vision he was still alive, his knife dancing crazily in the air, his eyes possessed. And this man, he was about to jump on … _on him! _But the older man pushed Charlie away and got on the way. And now the older man was lying on the floor, gurgling and writhing, foaming blood through his mouth and throat as they opened and closed in an almost involuntary motion. His arms were thrashing up and down, hitting the floor hard as they fell, splashing blood all over the place, all over Charlie. The old man's eyes were wide open and locked on Charlie's, begging for something important as he drew his last traces of breath, begging while his whole life flashed in front of him.

Don snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of a slamming door.

"Charlie?" he said, and just then he realised that Charlie had run out of the SUV.

"Charlie!" called Don as he too fled the vehicle in pursuit.

Charlie ran till the end of the parking lot. His whole body was retching so badly he barely made it to the wall in time.

Charlie was still gagging and panting when Don hesitantly approached him from behind. He couldn't master a single word and was afraid of touching him, of scaring him, so he just knelled down beside the younger man. Eventually, Charlie stopped gagging but started coughing, then, he suddenly felt his chest burn. He pulled his t-shirt up and stared at the purple marks imprinted on him. So fiercely had Alan knocked him over the night before that the blow caused Charlie to bruise.

Just before the panic attack took over, Charlie looked at Don and said, "he pushed me! He pushed me away and that man killed him! It should've been me! **Me!** That's how this is my fault," and he fell unconscious in Don's arms.

Pain gives you purpose. Problem is, what happens when death and purpose are the same thing?


	8. Chapter 8

Hello! Thank you for the comments and the alerts!! :)

Chapter 9 will be the final one, wow! But for now, a wee bit of suspense before drawing down the curtain … so here's chapter 8, and everybody is getting set!

Warning: some swearing.

Enjoy!

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Chapter 8

A comforting rain fell down at the strike of thunder. A conjuring display of lighting and constellations shone through a purple, moonless sky.

Desolation shed bitter tears through his bare skin. There was so much to wash away, to run away from. The rain was a gift to him, a way to smooth down the teardrops he didn't care where collapsing with every splash of his feet.

"**You lied to me! You all did! You all lied to me!**" yelled Charlie in between clashes of rolling thunder.

The vastness of the canyon echoed his words.

"I tried to warn you," said small one, his cheerfulness gone.

"No, you tried to scare him!" retorted small minus one, angrily.

"**You two** … _**you two get away from me!**_" hissed Charlie as he turned around, panting from exhaustion, rage, sorrow.

"We've never lied to you, Charlie," he heard Lea say. "**We** never had to."

Charlie looked at them in disbelief; eyes big, eyes lonely, eyes wet. He took a deep, painful swallow and tasted blood-infused saliva; every sip slowly cutting inward, as if to break him from within.

"How can you say that?! _How could you not tell me?!_"

"No; how could _you_ forget? How _dare_ you deny such tragedy?" said the injured wolf in a perfectly delivered punch; speaking for the first time since they met, his voice hoarse and tired, struggling to form. "You've always been so good at deluding yourself; at putting your inadequacies first."

Charlie felt his whole world crumbling down. Guilt forced him down on his knees, small, naked and vulnerable. Images blinked in the storm like the petrifying beacons of an inconvenient truth. His distraught eyes were now clear to see what his mind so hard had tried to hide. Those painful secrets buried under a veil, a veil that flew away with the ghastly wind.

The rain stopped. Charlie's heart turned cold. The purple sky above turned black. And in front of him there appeared two pillars: Gevurah and Keter. Gevurah was tall, grey and unassuming. Keter was imposing, bold and incandescent. From behind Gevurah emanated commotion and intensity. Surrounding Keter there was peace and absence. In front of these great pillars raised the injured wolf, defiant.

"We've reached the point of no return," the beast said. "Here's where you go back to the void or make amends."

"Amends?" said Charlie. "He's dead! How am I supposed to fix that?! I was there and I … **I couldn't do anything!!** He just wouldn't stop bleeding! He wouldn't stop bleeding, he wouldn't stop convulsing. He wouldn't stop looking at me like that!! **He wouldn't stop!!! He wouldn't stop dying! **And I just, I'd give anything … _anything_."

In the dramatic darkness his tears glimmered like tiny crystals. His sobs filled the empty void. Like a broken child he cried, so movingly. His pleading eyes spoke those feelings that cannot be worded, those unmentionable things that no one wants to bear. Finally, his soul silently began to detach and with the last of his strength he implored one more time, "how do you fix that?"

The wolf watched him, studied his every move, his every emotion.

"Death is death," the animal finally said.

"Then what?!" yelled Charlie. "Do you really think I don't know that? That it cannot be changed?!"

"What he did was selfish," Charlie tried to say next but his voice came out so crushed and imperceptible it faded into a grieving whisper.

"And what you are doing isn't?" said the wolf.

Indeed, how truth hurts; and Charlie fell silent again.

"You can honor his death by protecting what was most precious to him," the beast spoke.

"And what's that?" Charlie asked incredulously.

"His flesh and blood. His second chance."

"And what about you?" asked Charlie. "Where do you stand?"

"That's your choice too. **I** beat when you beat, **I** breathe when you breathe, **I** feel what you feel."

Charlie stared at the animal, taking in deep, long breaths.

Defeated, tired and burdened he slowly moved closer. "Please, you _have to_ understand, everything that meant hope is gone. Everything that was worth something …"

"_Everything?_" the wolf said; and the air began to change. The coldness was being replaced by a flux electrifying Charlie's limbs; the endless darkness by flaring shapes and shadows; the wolf, his face morphing through waves of light, browns and grays. And Charlie felt a warm hand running through his hair, and he opened his eyes.

*-*-*-*-*

Don's heart broke after hearing Charlie's confession. Alan died trying to save his little brother. Don would have too. If he could choose a way to go that'd be it. And it made him wonder, about Alan's last words, about his last thoughts. And just before he was taken, what did he _see_ when he looked into Charlie's eyes?

Sometimes it seemed to Don both father and son died at the same time. One died sacrificing himself, the other died victim of that sacrifice. It's amazing the things you learn when you're pushed beyond the pale. _No wonder they always say death's too good, too merciful. Where the pain of one ends the pain of another begins_. And it made him ponder about the nobility of death and the nobility of suicide. That's what Alan did after all. He jumped in front of a maniac with a knife, blindly complying, perhaps even approving the fact that he was going to die. It wasn't the act in itself, but the nature of the act what made it right.

Don would have done the same.

'_The nobility of suicide. Now I understand why someone would …come to that,' _he reasoned. It wasn't a calculated risk like the ones he took as an FBI agent. This was something much bigger and altruistic than that.

'_Bravery breeds suicide. Heroism breeds suicide. Conscience, decency breeds suicide. Love breeds suicide._' He forgot about madness, pain and blame but that didn't really matter.

It dawn on him suddenly, the reality behind his brother's behaviour; the desperate silence, the aversion to Don's touch and attempts to comfort him, the deep darkness within his eyes. It wasn't just about conscious refusal or point-blank anger like when Margaret fell ill. His brother really _couldn't_ remember what happened. The full magnitude of Alan's decision eclipsed everything else. But Don hadn't been there to understand and ended up pushing too hard. And when the postmortem brought it all back, it simply was too much for Charlie to take.

Did he really believe that sitting at the autopsy would have accomplished anything other than a new level of nightmares? It sure was a punishment, only that Don never meant to direct it to Charlie. It was supposed to be for that murderous piece of shit, Hammond! It was supposed to repay Alan … and Charlie … and Don.

'_Right!_'

The brilliant plan dictated that they were to stand there and laugh at their heart's content while the dead man was being chopped, but it didn't quite work out that way. Instead, they cried, they argued, Charlie got traumatised - again -, then Don discovered the real guilt-deal and Charlie passed out.

'_Well done, Eppes. Next time don't forget the camcorder, aunt Irene wouldn't want to miss it!_'

'_Asshole.'_

Damn lights. Damn traffic. Damn city.

"We'll be home soon, buddy," he softly said as he eyed the slender frame of an unconscious Charlie through the rear-view mirror. "I'm sorry pal," he added. "Your math's failed you, huh? Your big brother's failed you too. Buddy …" he smiled at the irony, "… I can't really hold it together. We're both screwed."

Turning on Porter Street Pasadena went quieter. A few people and a few dogs went casually about their business. Bushes and lawns were well manicured. Craftsman houses and expensive cars parked on clean streets made it all look so respectable.  
Sunshine, mild weather, a couple of noisy kids chasing each other and playing ball, dumb bees carrying pollen from flower to flower if you cared to look close enough; it was all there being thrown right back in your face and it was all very sad and annoying and deceptive and wrong. All of it! Every damn little thing that reminded Don of happier days; of a normal life.

Gene Hammond … surely no one would mourn a son of a bitch like him. And that prospect made Don feel better.

*-*-*-*-*

"Please, someone tell me that wasn't Don," said Megan.

"Yep," shot Colby, "that was him."

"Now we know where he's been," said Megan.

"Hey, I know what you're thinking but let's not jump to conclusions."

"Colby is right, Megan. Let's at least wait till we talk to Reynolds," voiced David.

"Yeah, I know guys, but you can't deny this is a bit strange! He's been unavailable all day. He hasn't returned our calls. He hasn't taken Charlie to see Walker and now, we find him here? You gotta admit …"

"Was Charlie in the SUV?" asked David while maneuvering the car.

"If he was, I didn't see him," said Colby.

"Maybe at the back? We weren't close enough," said Megan. "I'm trying Charlie's phone again."

David parked the vehicle at the morgue and stopped the engine. They waited as patiently as they could but the rings lasted a year each.

"And?" Colby raised his eyebrows prompting his small, intense eyes to grow bigger.

"Nothing," said Megan.

"Okay, let's go see the good doc. I'm sure he'll straight things up," said David.

"It's not our business anyway," sighed Colby.

"Granger!" scolded Megan.

"We're talking about Don and Charlie man," said David.

"Yeah, exactly," retorted Colby. "I'm just saying, whatever Don was doing here is not our business to interfere. The man has a right to privacy."

"We could help! We're a team and that's what we do, we help each other out!" justified Megan.

"Things are different when it comes to family; we don't wanna go there Megan," reasoned Colby. "Look, all I'm saying is, let's back them up on this one. We owe it to Don and Alan."

"And Charlie," nodded David.

*-*-*-*-*

Those filthy little critters were crawling all over her again. _Fucking blood-suckers_. _They were everywhere; the bed, the walls, the ceiling, under her skin_. After the affair with the old man Gail would bleach herself again.

Where was Eric anyway? He was taking too long that's for sure, so she busied herself preparing her fix and trying to think how she'd feel after killing a man. She's never gone that far before but she wanted to now.

And Eric was taking too damn long and she missed him already. He was the spitting image of Gene; shorter hair, clearer eyes, same cocky grin.

She winced at the touch of the needle and she wondered if he'd take her away, with him, to Phoenix. She'd be better off leaving L.A. anyway, surely Eric would agree. Once the body was found maybe the police would wise up, tie up loose ends. And no, she wasn't about to go through that, not on her own; no way.  
She'd talk to him about it. She'd prove to him she was worth the trouble. She'd be a good girl; he'd have to say yes.

"Got it," Eric said as he walked into the bedroom, "877 Hunter Street. The name is Malor."

Gail moved to the edge of the bed and pull out a Glock and a Beretta from the nightstand. She gave the Glock to Eric and smiled excitedly at the man, almost fondly, when she met his eyes. She didn't care about the bugs no more. She was high and she felt dangerous.

She was ready.

"You have more guts than my brother," Eric praised her. That alone made her day.


	9. Chapter 9

Hello! I'm very sorry about the delay in putting this up, especially since it is the last chapter! New job with a funny array of shifts made things very hard! :o  
But now here it is, the conclusion ... and be warned: it contains strong language, some graphic violence, a bit of brotherly love here and there ;-) and lots and lots of angst! I have plenty of angst still flying around :D

I have to say I enjoyed writing this fic very much and truly hope you guys enjoyed reading it! :)

Thanks again!!

_yours truly,  
__SpyingBirdsAgain_

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Chapter 9

The Craftsman felt so deprived and unwanted without Alan staking the boys with his lighthearted antics, meal time fuzz, secret thoughts of wedding planning - _and not so secret ones of grandchildren_ -. The house was dull, weeping, fading in twilight. The warmth of the past entangled with the rawness of the present. Its foundations were yearning for a loving family to bring the tender grounds back to life, to unreservedly provide a break from the gloom and doom with a hearty dose of candid talk, laughter, arguments and sweet making up. That's what its walls were there for, to tell a story, from beginning to end. The story of the Eppes family; how they lived and how they died. If only they didn't have to die and we could all skip that small, unimportant matter and jump straight to the happily ever after part of the epilogue. But that's not going to happen, is it? As if in real life anyone needs reminding of how things really are.

Across the road, John and Emily Malor weren't doing much better. The hardest thing John ever did was to kill Gene Hammond, the second hardest, to tell his Emily about it.  
After arriving earlier that afternoon from Oregon, she now cradled on the couch, emotionally and physically spent. John held her in his arms, losing himself in her perfumed skin, hiding in the subtle scent of the roses and violets he loved so much.

"We'll go to see that real estate agent on Monday honey, I promise," said John.

Emily answered with a somber nod, wrapping her arms tighter around his chest.

"We can call Ally tonight. Tell her we're selling the house and moving closer to them. She and Ben, I want to tell them what happened before we move out; even if that means talking about it on the phone rather than face to face. I know it doesn't feel right that way but I, I think they need to know."  
He gently kissed her forehead.

Emily raised her head in alarm and shot a worrying look at her husband.  
"We don't have to wait until the house sells, do we? It could take months, John. If people find out what happened here ... _When _people find out! Those boys John, one an FBI agent, the other a well-known professor, the press will be interested! Just you wait until they come knocking on our door!"  
If it were up to her they'd already be all packed up and long gone. Frankly, a cheap motel by the road seemed much more appealing to her than having to call a crime-scene 'home, sweet home'. Their house was tainted, cursed, and she couldn't wait for them to leave it behind, furniture and all.

"Emily …," John started to say when a knock on the door interrupted him. "I'll get it, honey," he told her, "you just rest."

He opened the door and instantly froze as if imposed upon by the devil himself.  
'_**What the … Impossible!**_'  
It had to be a bad dream, or a bad joke, or both.

"Not a word, old man. _**In!**_ _**Now!**_" Hammond said pulling out his gun, Gail by his side. "_**Move!!**_"

John played along. He walked backwards, slowly, raising his hands, eyes fixed on the Glock pointing at his stomach. Emily appeared from behind, a mangled scream escaped from her dry throat.

"Shut that bitch up!!" yelled Eric. Gail run to Malor's wife and struck her with the butt of the Beretta. Emily fell to the ground and Gail dragged her away from the foyer and inside the living room.

"**No!!"** gasped John. _His Emily, not his Emily …_

"Shut your mouth, old man, or I'll kill her too." John heard the words and knew it was no bluff. The promise ran through his system like pure poison and he had no choice but to comply.

Emily lay on the floor by the living room door, blood and tears running down her face and into her mouth. Gail took some rope out of her bag and tied John's hands in front of him. She then fished for duct tape and ran a piece over his mouth. Emily was next.

"You lost a bullet, old man," Eric said. "Found it inside my brother's head so we came to return it. Bet you're _happy_ to see us!"

Emily's muted sobs interrupted Hammond. His eyes looked at her with the outmost hate. In her euphoric state of mind, Gail decided that to be the perfect time to be proactive and show off. Taking initiative, the crazed woman launched a vicious attack. Her cheap brown leather boots kicked and stomped until her target crawled no more. John's eyes filled with tears. _His Emily_ …

"Three bullets, in fact," continued Eric, nonchalantly. "You can take two; your bitch here can take the third one, if Gail doesn't kick her to death first! Check out your boots, babe," he laughed.

"I give a fuck about her; you can take her. I want _him_," said Gail. "I want him to lick the blood off my boots."

Eric moved in on Emily and turned her over with his foot so that she lay on her back. She closed her eyes and didn't move after that. "Fine," he said, "but not here. Let's take him to the back. This one we save for later; she's not going anywhere."

Gail grabbed John by the collar, tore the tape from his mouth and forced him down; Eric got the picture and joined in. He lifted one leg and placed his foot on top of John's head. He pushed down and sent Malor's face crashing into Gail's dirty boots.

"Lick them," she commanded, her gun brushing against the man's head. John tried to scream and turn around but all he managed was a suffocating gag.

'_The grass is greener in Portland. Ally kept telling us that … How did we come to this? How?_'

"I said **lick** them!"

"I'll check the back and get us what we need for a makeshift silencer. And Gail, watch it. Don't kill'im till I get back," and Eric left the room.

Ignoring the blood and the pain Emily twisted her body and tried to sit up. She had to help John, she had to be strong, she had to get up.  
John caught her struggle and a new wave of fear and rage gave him renewed strength.

'_I love you_,' his eyes told her.  
He survived once and nothing would stop him from trying again. He saved two lives and he'll be damned if he can't save Emily's now.

"**Emily run!!**"

She knew in her heart there was no going back now. She dragged herself to her feet and half-ran, half-limped across the foyer and to the front door. Maybe there was hope … There had to be hope!

Arrested in strangled cries, John charged forward, his head collapsed against Gail's knees sending her down. Taking advantage of the intended confusion, he leaped to the side and grabbed the gun. Inches away from his attacker, he didn't miss.

Eric ran back to the living room. "_**Son-of-a-bitch!!!**_" he yelled wildly as he fired four rounds. He crouched next to Gail and tried to lift her upper body. Her head fell limp backward and to the side exposing a clean cut bullet hole. Exit wound, the coroner would point out. She was dead.

"**You fuckin' son of a bitch!!**" went the fifth round.

Hammond was livid, exuding hate; each breath was like a feral whip. He headed out and followed Emily's trail. Out in the open he would take it on anything and anyone crossing his path. He was a man with nothing to lose except ammunition. He would find that old bitch and finish her up.  
There was no pain or sorrow in his mind. There was a raving thirst for cold blooded execution and that alone drove him. '_Fair game, all of you now_.'

The sun was still up, the great betrayer, shining bright on Hammond's gun.

*-*-*-*-*

It's been an hour and thirty-five minutes since Don carried Charlie inside the house and laid him on the couch. There were nine new messages flashing up on the answering machine. He ignored them all and pulled the plug from the wall.

'_Leave me the fuck alone! What part of we're not answering your goddamn call do you not understand?!'_

He moved like a lost soul haunting an empty mansion. He stood by door frames, by windows, entering and exiting rooms for no apparent reason, smelling residues of aftershave and chalk. He kept on taking his hands out of his pockets only to shove them back in. He went back downstairs and aimlessly paced some more. At one point, he absentmindedly bit his lips so hard he finally made them bleed. The sudden onset of pain forced a moan out of him and as his eyes travelled, a mirror confronted him. A man stood there looking back at his reflection; he had a face Don could not relate to. Unlike the man before, this one had lost his mask and with it his bearings. The strained face looked back at Don, empty, and Don returned the gesture. An unnecessary evil.

He glanced at the couch and went for coffee. He had to find a way to apologize. It was eating him; he just had to. No use in trying to justify it anymore. No use in trying to deny how much he must have made matters worst. All in all, he thought, it was a good thing Charlie wasn't awake. Don wouldn't have known what to do or what to say to him. He needed time, he _wanted_ time. So yeah, it was a good thing.

After taking an unnatural interest on the coffee machine and its many buttons, he changed his mind and scavenged for gum instead. '_Great_,' he thought with a sigh when he realized he had run out.

He slowly made his way back from the kitchen to the couch and sat on the armchair he had pulled closer. He sank with a defeated thump and remained there, heavy and voiceless.

It's been an hour and forty-seven minutes since Don wanted out.

And just how do you apologize for a stupid trick like the one he'd just pulled? '_I'm sorry is not good enough. I didn't mean to?_ _Well yes, I did actually, more or less …'  
_Guilty as charged. '_Insensitive ass_.'

'_It won't happen again? The hell it won't! There's no one left to kill.'_

He could really do with some gum - _no wonder he split his lips_ -. And a long, hot shower, he really wanted that too. God, how Don hated morgues and their stench.

Back to business.  
'_Think about it, Charlie; it helped you remember! Uh-huh? No, didn't think so.' _

'_Hate me if you want?_' Nop, that neither. '_Let's not go down that road_.' Last thing Don needed was Charlie taking him up on such offer. '_And what makes you think Charlie doesn't hate you already?_' he figured.

And other things came to mind, meaningful, maybe; appropriate, no. So he finally resolved he was too laconic for his own good and not at all good with the sensitive talking. Feeling lost, he just slumped there, staring. And somehow his body moved slightly forward and his hand ran itself through Charlie's hair. It felt good so the hand did it again.

'_Sometimes you just have to let go_,' Don thought. He was only a man after all. He couldn't fix everything, catch every bad guy. He wasn't made of steel and stone; his heart was breakable just like everyone else's. He was fallible, bound to lose control.  
Holding dear to his humanity, he _had_ the goddamn right to be wrong, to be sad and to be angry.

He couldn't fix everything and that was fine, but what if he couldn't fix himself? If he couldn't fix Charlie? Charlie was, quite literally, all he had left, and the introspection that his brother would be forever living in pain scared him up to his feet.

Lifelines gone and all that's left is a gun on top of a coffee table.  
'_The nobility of death._'

A gun that felt far too heavy, far too alien in his hands.  
'_The nobility of suicide_.'

…because it hurt more than he could bare and he was only an insensitive, useless man. A bad son, a bad brother …  
'_He's all I have_.'

… and Charlie looked so peaceful in his slumber. And the ugliness of the real world couldn't touch him there.  
'_It seemed as if both father and son died at the same time_.'

… unresolved bereavement, complicated grief, overpowering guilt … can easily turn external aggression into internal one ...  
'_It wasn't the act in itself, but the nature of the act what made it right_.'

And this was something much bigger and altruistic than that.  
'_The right choice is not always the easy choice ..._ _I'll be with him. I'll always protect him_. _I'll always ..._"

Nurturing tears. Flesh decaying with flesh decaying, disintegrating together, ascending together. Far from grotesque, it was the eternal alchemy of love. No one would tear them apart. No human wish, no omnipotent force, no heaven or hell.  
No one would ever tear them apart.

'_I'm just a man_.'

His unresponsive legs sat him back down. "I won't be left here alone, and I'm not leaving you alone either. Whatever we decide to do, we do it together; and we do it now," he whispered.

And the air began to change.

"_Everything?_" the wolf said. The coldness was being replaced by a flux electrifying Charlie's limbs; the endless darkness by flaring shapes and dancing shadows. The wolf; his face morphing into that of a human being through waves of browns and grays. And Charlie felt fingers running through his hair and he opened his eyes.

"Charlie …" said Don.

And the darkness was gone; the strange beings that took him on a nightmarish journey were gone. Charlie's mind was reeling with acknowledgement; his consciousness awakening from a seemingly eternal trance, clenching on his brother's worried smile.

"_Donny _…"

"Yes, buddy. I'm right here with you."

And when Charlie's awareness came back it did, as it was habitual, with full force and intent.

"_Donny _…They are both dead! They are both dead and I don't want them to be dead!" he cried. "Everything that meant hope is gone. Everything that was worth something …"

"Is that right? _Everything?_ And what about me, Charlie? Am I not worth something?"

"Don ..." Charlie whispered.

"Buddy, they left me behind too, you know. And for the first time in my life I feel …" Don swallowed hard and looked away, trying to hide his tears. "Hearing this, seeing us both like this. Not even when mum died … Hell, who knows, Charlie. I know what's going on inside you and maybe … maybe I'm ready to give up too_. _Right here right now I'm just … I feel I want to ditch the whole damn thing and end it!" he snapped, exposing his wounds out in the open for Charlie to see."But there's a part of me that still believes," he confessed, and that to himself more than to his brother.

"Believes?! Don!" Charlie uttered with a hurt and incredulous expression. "I-I can't … I won't take this! Dad was murdered! I was there and I-I couldn't do anything! **You don't understand! I abandoned him the same way I abandoned mum!**"

"No, Charlie," said Don, hastily climbing on the couch. As Charlie lowered his head and supported it in his hands, Don wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, their touch uniting them, casting an embrace of fire and ice.

"You haven't answered my question, Charlie. Am I worth something? _**To you?**_"

"Is there really a part of you that still believes?" Charlie said meeting Don's eyes, something he hadn't done in a long time.

"_Yes!_"

"Believes in what?"

"_In us_," he earnestly said with tears of hope bleeding from his eyes as much as from his heart.

"Don …"

"You think, perhaps, we could make it work? That we could make it through?"

Charlie fell silent for a while; each passing moment longer than the one before.

"_Yes,_" he finally told Don; and both men were lost in each other's tears, in each other's arms. "I love you," said Charlie, his murmur muffled and shy, almost imperceptible.

"Hey, I love you too," Don said; there was pain but no hesitation in his reply. "Despite what you might think, I've always loved my little brother."

"And what if I one of us dies, just like them?"

"If that were to happen, buddy, the other one would be gone too."

"Together?"

"_Together_."

"Don …"

"Yes, buddy?"

"**Help!! Please somebody help!!" **they heard the violent screams coming from the outside. Screams that were followed by loud, shattering bangs.

"Stay here," said Don gravely as he headed for the front door.

"Emily?! What's going on?! What the hell happened??!!"

The battered woman rushed in.

"They came! They came and shot John! Please help him! **Please!!**"

"What?! Who!!"

And Eric wasted no time in tracking down his prey. He arrived at the Craftsman and kicked the door open. "**You fucking bitch!**" he yelled as he pulled the trigger dispatching another round.

Don instinctively pushed Emily aside and the bullet hit his arm. He plunged down to the floor with an excruciating yell.

"You wanna be a hero?? **Be a dead one!!**" Eric said taking aim.

And a shot was fired, direct impact.

"Oh, my God!" shouted Emily.

With the shadow of the sun sharpening his face, Charlie solemnly approached the lifeless body of Eric Hammond, Don's gun smoking in his hand. "Together … I wouldn't have it any other way," he said with conviction.  
Dropping the gun down to the floor he extended his shaky hand out to Don, and Don took it.

He had his answer. It'd take time but in the end, they would make things alright …

For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, red, blue lights and yellow tape broke the monotony of Hunter Street. The total count: five dead and two injured. The final outcome: two brothers who, on their darkest hour, made a stand in the face of fate. They refused to back down and sworn that nothing, ever, would come between them. Despite all odds, despite their turbulent past, nothing would break Don and Charlie apart.

The End


End file.
